


But I Let Your Dog Lick My Face

by Mullsandmutts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Happy Birthday Patrick!!!!, M/M, Misunderstandings, Secrets, but I ran out of time, dumb boys, moms always know, porn wanted to be here, so do dogs apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 14:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12772803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mullsandmutts/pseuds/Mullsandmutts
Summary: It's Patrick's 29th birthday. Jonny is running late. Patrick kills time in Jonny's apartment. Betsey is not amused. Patrick snoops. Things go haywire. But happy endings abound.





	But I Let Your Dog Lick My Face

**Author's Note:**

> This is a silly little unbetaed thing that I wanted to knock out in celebration of Patrick's big birthday. Hope you enjoy it!!!!

Patrick knocks on the door for the fiftieth time, wincing as the barking continues on the other side. God, he hates that dog.

Patrick texts: Dude, wtf! put down the ganja and answer ur door b4 your neighbors complain about that fucking dog. 

Jonny texts: Not there yet idiot. You have a key and know the code. Don’t hurt yourself. 

Patrick texts: Thought we were supposed to be at MCG by noon asshole. Like I want to walk in on ur old lady showering or whatevs 

Jonny texts: She’s out of town until Tuesday and no one calls My Chicago Golf that except you so stop embarrassing yourself.

Patrick texts: You give the worst birthday presents man. PS, stop texting - ur gonna crash into a train again.

Jonny texts: Then stop texting me. Let yourself in and wait for me. AND DON’T GO THROUGH MY MAIL AGAIN!

Patrick snickers. He still has a pic of the newly delivered Soul Healers: Sedona Desert Pan Flutes at Dusk CD that he unearthed in the pile of mail on his last trip to Jonny’s while Jonny was in the bathroom bemoaning the fact that the waiter must have dropped a crouton into his salad. 

Patrick is just waiting for the right time to share it with Sharpy. And today may be the day.

Patrick lets himself in, leg cocked ready to kick if the little rat-dog comes at him. He stops and laughs heartily when he sees her blocked off in the kitchen area with baby gates, barking and snarling her tiny fool head off. 

He shuts the door behind him and purposely doesn’t kick off his shoes on the white carpet. If Jonny wants to play the pretentious ass who thinks all things white and fur are excellent decorating options, then he can either be home when Patrick comes over or pay for the carpet cleaning.

“Well, well, well, Cujo isn’t so tough now, huh?” Patrick drawls and leans against the wall, exactly three inches out of the reach of the little ball of outrage that is Betsey. She alternates snarling with trying to jam her little snout through the gate. 

Betsey starts barking so loud and so often that she forces herself to sneeze. She stops, shakes her head, and then starts barking again.

“Keep on yammering, Fido,” Patrick reaches over the baby door to grab the pile of mail on the kitchen island, laughing as Betsey, teeth snapping, tries to hop up and down to bite his arm. “Your legs are like an inch tall, dipshit. So, unless you have the vertical leap of an NBA point guard, the mail is mine.”

He tucks the pile of mail under his arm and sits down on a stool at the corner of the island, making sure that he’s just close enough that Betsey can still see him but far enough away that she can continue to be frustrated at the fact that she can’t do anything about it. Patrick supposes he should feel bad about taunting Jonny’s dumb dog. But he doesn’t. 

He ignores her pacing, little pink painted nails clacking on the floor tile, as he leafs through the mail. Most of the shit is boring, a couple of bills from expensive furniture and lighting places that make Patrick roll his eyes. There’s also a bill from Jonny’s orthopedic surgeon which causes Patrick to frown and have to swallow against the sudden nausea he feels at thinking of Jonny injured. He tosses the bill onto the island and takes a deep breath through his nose until the feeling goes away. 

He continues to look through the pile, eyes narrowing when he gets to a yellow envelope with the Onnit logo and address in the return corner. A slow, evil grin moves across his face as he drops it into the trash can near his elbow. 

“Oops, sorry Aubs,” he feigns innocence and looks over at Betsey who is now laying on her stomach, head resting on her paws as she glares up at him with all of the hatred of the universe.

He’s smugly cackling to himself until he looks at the next envelope. He almost drops it, recognizing the return address and handwriting.

“What. The. Fuck.” Patrick’s voice is steel as he rips into the envelope. Betsey’s head cocks, something about the change in his tone catching her interest. Patrick ignores her as he jerks the card out of the envelope.

The front of the card is simple – black with gold scrolled “Thank You.” Patrick rips it open, refusing to feel guilty. It’s a card from his own mother to Jonny so he will read the shit out of it, thank you very much. 

Seeing his mother’s handwriting hits Patrick with a bolt of nostalgia that makes it hard to breathe for a second. He has a sudden flash of memory, of sitting with Erica in her bedroom when he was nine. Patrick had failed a math test which resulted in a note being sent home that had to be signed by his parents and he was sure he was going to be grounded from hockey forever. He had tearfully implored Erica’s help. She had simply rolled her eyes at his dramatics, grabbed a grocery list off the refrigerator, and sat down with a notepad. They both practiced signing their mom’s name over and over until Erica had given it a good enough shot that they both felt comfortable having her sign the note. The teacher never questioned it. It was their secret until a few months later when Patrick had accidentally stepped on Jessica’s Tamagotchi and crushed it, earning her spilling the beans on Patrick and Erica in revenge. How Jessica had ever even known about the note was beyond him. 

Patrick shook his head to snap out of it and looked down at the note.

“Jonathan,” the note started. “Imagine my surprise when I opened the mailbox and received your letter. And then to read such intensely personal words touched me more than you can know. And broke my heart at the same time. I know you have had struggles with your friendship – two proud, focused, determined young men battling to assert yourselves and figure out your identities. And I know my son – he can be a stubborn little shit when he wants to be. So, the two of you being thrown together so much and so young was bound to be rocky, to say the least. And I know you have drifted in different directions as you’ve both matured and found your own paths. But your support of Patrick, your unwavering loyalty through absolutely everything, has been the only reason I’ve been able to rest some nights so far from him and knowing he was hurting and not being able to be there. Because I knew you were there and you would never let him hurt if there was something you could do to fix it. I am grateful to you more than you can ever know. And with what you’ve trusted to share with me … well, looking back, I guess a lot of things make a lot more sense now. I am sorry you have shouldered this alone and that it has been the struggle that it has for you. I am humbled that you have taken me into your confidence. I have often wondered but never felt it my place to say. I wish I knew what to tell you, how to guide you here. But I can’t. This is one of those things that you will have to decide on your own. I don’t know how he will react. And like you said, it wouldn’t be okay for me to tell you even if I did know. All I can say is that if and when you decide to share it, I truly believe you will both be okay. Neither of you would ever let it go any other way. Good luck, kiddo. Please know that you are loved by all of us and we are grateful for the place you have in our – and in Patrick’s – lives.”

Patrick stares at the note for a minute, not sure how he feels about it, to be honest. His brain is struggling to understand exactly what it means. Why Jonny would reach out to his mom. What it is that Jonny said. What it is that he is hiding or hurting or worrying about. 

“I don’t … “ He starts to say to himself, swallowing hard. He looks over at Betsey who is watching him carefully, still glaring but less judging now, more cautious. “Is he hiding something from me?” The dog just blinks at him.

Patrick pulls out his phone and dials his mother.

“Hey sweetie,” her voice is amused when she answers. “As much as I love you, we already wished you a happy birthday over skype this morning so now you’re just fishing.”

“Ma,” he starts, voice rough, and then stops. Movement catches the corner of his eye as Betsey sits up and cocks her head at him.

“Patrick?” her voice is tense, also obviously recognizing something in that quick tone. “What’s wrong, did something happen?” He can’t blame her for going there. It sucks but he can’t blame her for it.

“Did you,” he starts and then rubs the bridge of his nose, jolted to see his hand is shaky. “Did Jonny send you a letter or something recently?”

“Oh,” is his mother’s soft reply. He clutches the phone as she is quiet for a moment. When she finally speaks, her voice is cautious. “How did you know about that?”

“That doesn’t really matter,” he snaps. “What did he tell you?”

“Ahhh,” she sighs. “So, you two haven’t spoken.”

“Ma, come on,” he starts, looking over to see Betsey up on her hind legs, leaning against the gate, staring at him and tail wagging cautiously.

“Patrick,” her voice is soft but firm. “We aren’t going to talk about this. Not until you speak to him.”

“I can’t talk to him if he won’t talk to me,” Patrick snaps. “I wouldn’t even know except ….” 

“Except what?” she asks. “As far as I know, only he and I know about that letter. So, if he hasn’t spoken to you, then how do you know about it?” 

He avoids answering, swallowing silently. Betsey whines and without thinking, or usual concern for his limbs, Patrick reaches his hand down to brush over her little head. She sniffs him suspiciously and then gives his thumb a tiny hesitant lick.

“Patrick,” his mother’s voice sounds firm and a little angry now. “Are you snooping through his private things?” His face flushes. His mother knows him better than anyone.

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps, causing Betsey to flinch back and watch him warily. “My mother is writing to my so-called friend behind my back. I think that’s the real issue here.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” her voice is tight and she legit sounds angry. “I am probably safe to assume that you are indeed going through his private correspondence or mail or something that is absolutely none of your business and incredibly intrusive. So, you can check that tone. You can also remind yourself that you are the one who is in the wrong here. I am furious that you would do something so invasive and to a person who you call a friend. That’s not a friend, Patrick. That’s an asshole.”

There is dead silence on the phone and Patrick cringes. Having his mother angry with him is not any easier at 29 than it had been at 9. Especially when she is right. 

He turns and slides down the wall of the counter until his butt is on the floor, dog gate near his arm as he takes a deep breath.

“I just,” he hates how small and wobbly his voice sounds. “I am just … I wasn’t really trying to snoop into something personal. I promise I wasn’t. But I did and now … I’m just worried that something is wrong. I’m just …..” 

The other end of the line was quiet for a moment until he heard a long exhale.

“Remember when you were eleven and you tried to find the Christmas presents and ended up breaking your sister’s little heart?” She offers after a while.

“Hey,” he gets indignant, horrified at the memory that has at least faded to a humorous standard tale at family gatherings. “I had no way of knowing that Jackie would follow me and figure out there was no Santa.”

“Remember what I told you then?” She asks pointedly. Oh.

“Yes,” he sighs and closes his eyes, resting his head back against the wall. 

“What did I say?” She coaxes.

“You said, ‘if you aren’t prepared for the outcome of your snooping, then you shouldn’t be snooping.’” He feels as embarrassed now as he did then.

“Correct,” She answers, voice softening a little. “Unfortunately, unlike then, this particular story isn’t mine to share. It isn’t a confidence that I am prepared to break. So, I’m afraid, kiddo, that you will either have to wait for Jonny to come to you or go to him yourself.”

“If something was wrong, you would tell me though, right?” Patrick presses. “Like, if he was hurt or retiring or something. If it was big, you would tell me, right?” 

She is quiet for a moment on her end and Patrick can picture her chewing on her lip as she thinks it through. He is his mother’s son after all.

“There are things I would tell you,” she starts. “And there are things that I would not tell you. I can assure you that he is in no danger, no physical injury or illness, nothing like that. Will that make you feel better?” And it does. Make him feel better. So much so that he slides a little further down the wall, unaware of how much tension he had been holding.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, not sure the lump in his throat will allow him to speak fully. To his knowledge, his mother has never once lied to him about anything, not even when there were times that he wished she could have. If she says Jonny is okay, he is going to believe it.

“Good,” he can hear her soft smile through the phone and his eyes start to burn with a sudden pang for something he can’t understand. He shrugs it off as homesickness and coughs.

“Thanks, and,” he coughs again. “I really am sorry. I never actually meant to be that way with his stuff.”

“I’m not the one who gets the apology, Patrick,” she says. “But I do know that you wouldn’t purposely try to do that. However, I also know how you will be with him the minute you see him, badgering him to tell you the truth and I am going to ask you to restrain yourself on this one. Some secrets take time to share. Give him whatever time he needs, okay? This is me asking you to give him the reins for once. God knows you’ve never given each other an inch unless it happened on accident but this time, I am asking you to be a grown up and respect that he will tell you when it’s the right time. Promise me? It’s important.”

“Okay. I gotta go. Bye, Ma. I love you. I’m sorry,” he says in a low tone, suddenly very tired and feeling very close to tears for a reason he can’t understand. 

“I love you too, baby. We will talk soon,” the line goes dead and sets his phone down next to him, leaning his head back against the wall with a thump. He’s staring at the ceiling when a tiny, cold, wet nose pokes into his cheek and recoils. 

He turns his head to see that he is eye-level and less than an inch from Betsey and that she has her little snout shoved through the hole in the gate. There was a time when he would have been sure she was trying to eat his face off, but her little tail is wagging and she’s looking at him with big eyes and he thinks she just might have been trying to kiss him. Much like the Grinch, he thinks he feels his heart thaw a little.

“Listen, Scooby,” he says very seriously. “If I let you out of there, you gotta promise that we will never speak of this again. People already give me enough shit about my size and my curls. I can’t be toting around a friendship with a prissy little girlie dog. No offense.” 

As if she understands, she sticks her tiny little paw through the gate to touch his sleeve. He reaches up and shakes it as if it were a hand and then reaches over and pops the latches on the gate, swinging it open. He figures she’s either being on the up and up and wants to be friends, or she has lulled him into a false sense of security and deserves kudos for being such a GOT-level shrewd opponent.

The answer comes in the form of her scrambling up into his lap and licking at his face excitedly.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs as he avoids the dog spit. He’s not ready to cross some boundaries. He calms her down into his lap and runs his hand up and down her back until she chills and settles. He lets his head fall back again, losing himself to the lulling motion of his hand as he gently pets her again and again, long strokes from head to tail. It allows him to do some thinking as she sighs contentedly. He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize Jonny is home until the dog yips and flies off his lap, racing to the door. 

Patrick freezes. Shit. In a flash of horror, he realizes that the mail is scattered all over the counter above him and there’s no way for him to hide the fact that he opened the card. He promised his mom he wouldn’t push Jonny for the conversation but given the fact that the dude is about two seconds away from finding out that Patrick read the note, he’s guessing a conversation is about to go down. And probably loudly.

“What are you doing out of your gate?” He hears Jonny’s voice warm with surprise and amusement. Patrick stays where he’s sitting. Maybe Jonny won’t see him, he hopes idly.

But suddenly a pair of legs turn the corner and Patrick is staring at Jonny’s long gross monkey feet.

“She finally took you down, eh?” Jonny’s smirk is evident in his voice as Patrick looks up at him slowly. He watches as Jonny surveys the scene around the kitchen, knowing the exact moment that he realizes Patrick opened the card because Jonny freezes and all of the color drains from Jonny’s face as it goes a shade of white that Patrick has never seen before.

“Jonny,” Patrick starts and scrambles up, trying to cut him off. Jonny flinches back, away from Patrick as if he hit him. Jonny has Betsey in his arms and he must squeeze her too hard because she yips and scrambles out of his arms, jumping to the back of the couch next to him.

Jonny’s eyes are wide as he stares at the counter.

“Jonny, listen,” Patrick starts again and Jonny’s eyes fly to his. It is Patrick’s turn to flinch, almost jumping at the anger and hurt and confusion in Jonny’s eyes.

“Did you read your mom’s card?” his voice is wrecked, sounds like he’s almost begging Patrick to deny it.

“Yeah but Jonny …” 

“How could you?” Jonny whispers, shaking his head as if he doesn’t understand. “Why would you do that?”

“It was stupid,” Patrick pleads. “I didn’t even mean to I just saw it and it was my mom and I read it and then I called her and …”

“You called her?” Jonny shouts. “Did she say … what did she tell you?” His eyes are wild now.

“Nothing, I swear!” Patrick holds his hands up in front of himself. “She wouldn’t. She was so mad at me. She called me an asshole.”

“She’s right,” Jonny says, whatever betrayal and panic that was on his face now shifting and contorting into anger. “You are an asshole. Get out.”

“Jonny, stop, listen,” Patrick moves toward him and Jonny spins out of reach, putting himself on the other side of the couch, keeping it as a barrier between them. Patrick’s eyes take in the packages on the floor near the door, including a cake box. His stomach plunges. A birthday cake box.

“Go,” Jonny grits and points to the door, his face absolutely furious. Patrick is scrambling, panicking at how sideways this has all gotten until suddenly he remembers his mom’s promise that no matter what, they would both always be okay. And dammit, he is not letting this day go like this.

“Fucking STOP!” Patrick shouts, scaring Betsey who scrambles off the couch and causing Jonny to ball his fists. “You are going to shut up and listen to me for two fucking seconds and then if you want to punch me in the mouth you can have at it but I am not losing your friendship because of a stupid reckless moment on my part and a thank you card. You hear me? I am not losing you because of this.”

Something in his words causes Jonny to reel back, eyes widening almost hilariously. But good, Patrick has attention.

“First of all, yes, I went through your mail because I am an immature ass hat who likes to fuck with you,” Patrick starts, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “And yes, I mocked you behind your back for your bills for the new business venture. And yes, I saw the envelope from your surgeon and it made me almost throw up to think about. And yes, I threw away the card from that fucktard in Texas. And yes, I opened the card from my mom when I saw her handwriting. Because, because … fuck, because I don’t even know why. I was scared. Or mad. Or worried. Or some fucking thing but whatever, yes, I did it. I did it and I’m an asshole and you have every right to be mad. And it was invasive and intrusive and other words that my mom used that mostly mean I was a bag of dicks. But Jonny,” his voice cracks a little. “I was scared. I was so scared because I didn’t understand what it meant, I still don’t. Because I called her and needed to know you weren’t like dying or hurt or something. And she wouldn’t tell me. She refused to tell me what you guys talked about so I don’t know whatever your secret is. Except,” the adrenaline dumps and the wind filling his metaphorical sails drops and suddenly, Patrick just feels very tired and small and stupid. “Except that you have one. You have a secret and you told my mom but you never,” Patrick looks up at Jonny. “You never trusted me enough to tell me. And now maybe you never will.”

Patrick closes his eyes against the stupid stinging threatening there. 

“And it’s my stupid birthday and I was excited to go spend the afternoon with just your stupid face at the stupid indoor golf simulator and get into stupid chirping fights and probably whine and nag you into taking me somewhere fun for dinner and listed to you bitch about the trans-fat in the enchiladas and the amount of sour cream that I put on my burrito and maybe even goad you into taking a tiny bit of stupid Mexican fried ice cream just to make fun of your stupid stomach later. And now it’s all ruined just like I ruined stupid Santa because I’m an asshole. And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

The room is dead quiet, Patrick keeping his eyes closed tight, chin dropped to his chest, so that he doesn’t end up crying in Jonny’s living room or worse, see whatever is happening with Jonny’s face right now. 

He keeps them closed until he hears the tentative clacking of little nails on the floor. He feels two little paws on his shins and looks down to see Betsey standing on her hind legs, leaning against him and looking up questioningly at his face, tail wagging hesitantly.

Patrick leans down and swoops her up, burying his face in her furry little body.

“And the worst part is now I like your stupid dog,” he knows his voice is muffled against the fur but he is pretty sure Jonny can hear him.

The silence continues to go on for what seems like years. Patrick swears he can hear every beat of his heart, Betsey’s heart, and maybe even Jonny’s. Finally, just as Patrick is about to lose it, he hears Jonny take a deep slow breath.

“You threw away my card from Aubrey?” Jonny’s voice is low. 

Wait, what?

“Mother fucker, THAT is what you took from all of that?” Patrick’s head snaps up, ready to Hulk-rage-out on Jonny’s dumb face for this emotional embarrassing roller-coaster. Until he sees the smirk on Jonny’s face. The dumb fond smirk. The smirk that means he is annoyed and irritated and frustrated with one Patrick Kane but still finds him amusing and delightful and entertaining and his favorite person in the world. Or at least that’s what Patrick likes to tell himself when he sees that smirk.

“Let’s be very clear here,” Jonny walks around the couch and Patrick may somewhat keep Betsey between them because Jonny won’t tag him in the face if it means he might miss and hit the dog. Jonny must recognize the tactic because he sighs wearily and reaches over to pry Betsey out of Patrick’s hands, setting her down on the floor next to him and walking up into Patrick’s space so close that Patrick actually has to look up in order to see his face.

“Personal space,” Patrick starts until Jonny shoots him a quelling look.

“As I was saying,” Jonny repeats dryly. “Let’s be very clear here. You absolutely are an intrusive, invasive and whatever other mean words that your mom used that mean you are a bag of dicks.”

“Hey,” Patrick protests weakly.

“And it was very uncool of you to try to get information from your mother about a private conversation that we had,” Jonny says seriously. “And you’re full of shit if you think you could have made me take you to El Ranchito because I do indeed know the level of trans-fat in that place and there is cheese in everything and you know if I tried to eat Mexican fried ice cream I would be in the bathroom all night and you would have been bored watching TSN all night without me. But you are also right about the fact that while you shouldn’t have been snooping, it wasn’t cool of me to keep a secret from you. So, I’m sorry about that and about the fact that it scared or worried or somethinged you.” Jonny’s brow furrows a little.

“I know I am a pain in your ass,” Patrick offers, filled with an urge to make that hesitancy and worry leave Jonny’s face forever. “And I’m not trying to make you tell me or anything. Just. I promise, you can trust me. When you’re ready, I mean.” Jonny nods slowly, just staring at Patrick’s face for a long time, the expression undecipherable to Patrick.

“What if you’re not okay with it though?” Jonny asks, voice low. “What if you end up never wanting to speak to me again.” And Patrick’s heart clenches because Jonny’s face suddenly opens up and he is clearly, genuinely, absolutely terrified of whatever this stupid secret is. And Patrick can’t allow Jonny to ever feel that way. Ever.

“Jon,” Patrick musters all of the seriousness he has in his entire body as he reaches up and clenches his hands around both of Jonny’s humongous biceps and shakes him a little. “Listen to me when I say this. No matter what it is, no matter what it means, no matter who it involves. There is nothing at all that you could share with me that would ruin us. We wouldn’t allow it. We will both be okay. No matter what.” Patrick doesn’t think his mom would mind using her words. Because they were the right ones.

“But what if it’s this?” Jonny whispers and Patrick isn’t honestly sure what happened because one minute he was staring up into Jonny’s face and the next his eyes are closed and Jonny’s hands are buried in his curls cradling Patrick’s head as if it’s the most precious thing in the world and Jonny’s tongue is gently licking its way into Patrick’s mouth. 

And for some reason Patrick can’t fathom at all, he is neither surprised nor scared at the turn of events. If someone had told him his 29th birthday would end up this way he would have punched them in the throat and run off to bleach his eyes. But now, as his arms wind around Jonny’s freakishly large torso and he can feel the way Jonny’s rib cage expands and contracts with each breath and as he can feel the warm sweet peppermint of Jonny’s breath across his lips and smell the expensive Burberry cologne because Jonny may be a hippie but he is a hippie with expensive douche tastes, for right now, it feels like this is exactly how his 29th birthday should have gone all along.

Jonny breaks off the kiss, resting his forehead against Patrick’s as they both struggle to catch their breath. Patrick just stares at this face he has known most of his life but suddenly feels like he might actually be seeing for the first time.

“That’s the secret?” Patrick whispers. Jonny’s eyes are glued to his wide, anxious.

“Yeah,” Jonny whispers back, thumbs still rubbing distracted circles in the hair behind Patrick’s ears. “That’s the secret.”

“Huh,” Patrick utters eloquently. Jonny’s eyes narrow a little.

“I’m sorry, ‘huh’? That’s all you have to say?” Jonny actually seems a little annoyed and for some reason, that makes Patrick’s heart sing. What can he say, he already admitted he’s an ass hat.

“I told you I like your dog,” Patrick offers with mock dryness. “And you want to bang me, which like, half of the world wants to do. So really, who had the bigger secret?”

Patrick finds himself unceremoniously dropped on the couch with a pillow smooshed over his face as he cackles, muffled in upholstery though it is. Which is one, surprisingly hot and Patrick marvels at all of the epiphanies he is having on this the day of his birth. And two, just makes him laugh harder, a bubble of something absolutely joyous threatening to explode all over the place.

Jonny finally lifts the pillow, staring judgily down at Patrick. Betsey has someone clambered to the top of the back of the couch and is staring down with the same look, as if she has finally realized that she has shamed herself by having ever accepted Patrick as worthy.

“Hey Jonny,” he smiles at bats his eyes. “Your dog licked my face earlier. Wanna give it a go?” He does his best sexy leer and waggle eyebrows. And is answered with another pillow to the face.

Patrick can’t breathe, is being squashed by a giant emotionally-stunted Canadian hippie robot, and has a rat with painted toenails barking at him. And the day is just beginning.

He can tell it’s going to be one of his favorite birthdays ever.


End file.
